Cindy
by flipptinkwell
Summary: [onhold]Cynthia Ellen Perez had no problem with pumpkins, really. No problem with their color, no problem with their goop, no problem with their size. She actually loved pumpkins. But, her allergies didn't.


Disclaimer: I don't own Cinderella, obviously.

Among Some Things, A Medical History and A Naming

Cynthia "Cindy" Ellen Perez had no problem with pumpkins, really.

No problem with their color, no problem with their goop, no problem with their size. She actually loved pumpkins.

But, her allergies didn't.

It was inevitable. She'd go to market and see the contests of biggest corn, biggest carrot, biggest zucchini, biggest ... pumpkin.

She always saved that one for last.

There she'd stand, in awe of a pumpkin as large, as bright, as beautiful as the sun -- and it'd happen.

First, it was the nose (it was always the nose). The nose she had so lovingly rubbed against smooth orange skin just a moment before began to turn orange itself.

Then came the ears. Followed by the cheeks, the forehead, the forearms, the shoulders, the torso, the calves, the thighs, the ankles, and finally, the toes.

In a few moments time her heart would palpitate from the tingly rash now spread all over her body (when she was younger she thought it quite beautiful, however, she was older now and stepmum Selene had told her better), and she'd run.

The mothers, of course, would scream, she found out the one time she didn't run. The elderly would wonder at this break in the now well established routine. The younger children would point in awe. The even younger would try to touch. The older, dreamy ones would create tales of lychan-like proportions (marketday was a monthly affair, after all, and it added a sense of romantic intrigue to the story -- Cindy thought she made quite a nice heroine). The oldest, however, those on the brink of becoming men and women would shriek and run, or point and jeer.

Cindy, when she was younger (how naive she had been!), had thought this quite fun (although not the jeering, of course). But, as she grew older, she wizened. She now ran every time, usually into a mudbank. Mud cooled her fiery skin (she liked to think of herself as an Apollo -- as bright and as hot and as beautiful as the sun itself), and the stream nearby provided an easy way to wash it off afterwards.

---

She never knew her mother, who had died in childbirth, so she never mourned. But Cindy's father, whom Cindy knew very well, died quite suddenly and did leave a gaping hole in Cindy's heart. In mourning, Cindy quite abruptly stopped attending marketday. (Often, she'd wonder what the townsfolk thought. The mothers were probably thankful, the dreamy probably adding kidnappings to the tale of the pumpkin-girl, the younger children had probably forgotten, the older ones were probably happy, and the elderly might be creating legends, if Cindy was lucky...)

Now, Cindy found, no-one would call her "Pumpkin" in loving jest. No-one would console her, no-one would take care of her.

But what of Cindy's stepmum, Selene?

Cindy found out quite soon after a month of pretend mourning (from Selene and her stepsisters' parts) that Selene wouldn't be consoling her anytime soon.

Cindy was put to work, filling the roles of fired servants. No cooking, for she wasn't trusted not to poison Selene's food and drink. No, Cindy dealt with fires.

Yes, the tiny slip of woman (for that was what she had become) dealt with the many fireplaces of her home. And so her fascination with this tamer offspring of the sun grew. She could quite usually be seen covered in ash, ghostly and ethereal. Thus her older stepsister began calling her Cinders.

This was what her household sounded like:

"Cinders, won't you please pull this corset a little tighter?" (That was Aimee, Cindy's older stepsister.)

"Ella, get over here and help the stablehand shod this horse!" (That was Isabelle, Cindy's younger stepsister. Cindy couldn't decide which she hated more -- the nickname Cinders, or the rudeness from Isabelle.)

After a a month or so of work, this was what her household sounded like:

"Cinders!"

"Ella!"

"Cinder--"

"Ella!"

And lo, the sisters came upon "Cinderella."

Cindy couldn't decide what she hated more -- could it be this abysmally small bathtub? It was definitely not the work. For one thing, being a servant freed her from corsets and finishing school. Plus, she wasn't being worked to the bone (she served as a handmaid for her stepsisters). Aside from dealing with fireplaces and stables, nothing about her position was unordinary -- Cindy doubted her stepsisters or stepmum had the capacity to be truly evil.

Cindy decided it had to be the way dung stuck to skin after it dried.

---

Many, many months later (it was, in fact, a year), an invitation arrived. A freshly cleaned Cindy (who believed in starting a day clean and ending it clean -- thus the two daily bathings) greeted the newly awakening sun (Cindy was always present for this marvel), and accepted the heavy letter from the ornately decorated carriage as she started on her way to feed the horses.

Later, a shriek from her stepmum told her who had sent the letter.

"A royal ball! Oh, my! My, my! My, my, my my my--"

You get the idea.

And, for the first time since her father's death, Cindy went to marketday.

What greeted her was quite different from what she had known -- no more vegetables!

No corn, no carrot, no zucchini, and no pumpkin.

Granted, they were still being sold, but Cindy couldn't rub her face against a pumpkin in a cart and still be considered sane, could she? And sanity was very important if Selene was going to let her stay at home.

---

"Cinderella! My corset is much too loose! I look positively plump!"

"Cinderella! My hair looks like a pile of writhing snakes! Come, brush it, quick!"

"Cinderella! Why did you let me buy this color?"

"Cinderella! These pearls make me look ancient!"

"Cinderella--"

"Cinderella!"

Soon the commands and whines blended together as Cindy ran from sister to sister, quite thankful she did not have to go through this. Her ears visibly perked as she heard what she thought was a proclamation from the king. Only five minutes left of this torture...

"Cinderella!" Began Aimee.

"Cinderella!" Isabelle interrupted her.

"How do I look?" They chimed the last bit together, and Cindy suppressed a sarcastic chuckle.

The two did look angelic, and even though Aimee was four years Isabelle's senior, they could've been twins. Aimee's locks were done up elaborately, and stray strands framed her face. Kohl outlined her eyes and seemed to make her blue eyes stand out. Her lips were painted an alluring red, and the rogue on her cheeks were sure to make the men at the ball captivated. Her gown was a beautiful burgundy color. It highlighted her figure and made her skin seem porcelain-perfect.

Isabelle, however, looked fairy-like. Her hair was impeccably curled and rested about her shoulders perfectly. Her gown accentuated the green tint of her eyes and floated around her body, creating an aura of serenity, and (Cindy repressed a snort of disbelief) a tiny crown studded with jewels.

Cindy made noises of approval (she was quite enamored with a muffin sitting on Aimee's dresser to manage anything more), and both sisters donned appropriate masks, careful not to smudge their faces.

Cindy, however, almost fainted when Isabelle made her next demand.

"Cindy-rella! Come with us."

Now, Cindy had been looking forward to a nice quiet evening. Perhaps she would finish a novel while sitting by the serene blue waters of the lake situated a comfortable distance into the woods. And then she might finish the cake she had almost started baking for one of the other servant's birthdays. All while enjoying that marvelous muffin, of course.

But her sisters had once again ruined something she wanted. It had started with that yellow ribbon from when they were younger, and then the cat she had found in that cherry tree (although she had been allowed to keep the runt of the stray's eventual litter), and now this ... this ... ball. Quite a waste of time, and Cindy hated dancing, as well. Aimee, however, soon put this fear to rest.

"You won't be dressed as well, of course, and you won't be taking any attention away from us--"

"You'll just fix our hair or make-up or somesuch thing so no noblemen will see us in disarray!" Isabelle finished.

Cindy checked her pulse. She could've sworn her heart had stopped beating.

A/N: This was written in an effort to get useless plot bunnies out of my mind while I was suffering from writer's block for my other story (which I'd love if you read! The fifth chapter will be up by next week, hopefully...). This might have an erratic update schedule, I'm afraid. Anyway, read and review, I'll be handing out cookies!


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